You can get through this, he thought. Just like you have done a dozen times before.
When the noise died down, the crowd surged toward him. Kalessa and Ranadar automatically stepped in front of him, hands resting lightly on their swords in a way that wasn’t meant to be threatening, but was supposed to remind everyone both of their manners and of the fact that Kalessa and Ranadar were titled nobility, able to bear arms.
A short blast on a horn froze everyone and stopped the music. A herald near the dais shouted, “The prince will receive the Hero of the Twist!”
Like magic, a path opened up between Danr and the dais. Prince Karsten, his mother beside him, stood at the other end. Danr swallowed. A prince.
A map of Balsia looked like a stained glass window that had been hit with a hammer. The country was a crazy quilt of city-states, baronetcies, duchies, and districts that allied, squabbled, warred, and made up until no one really knew where any boundaries lay. The local ruler called himself by whatever title he felt strong enough to use, and over the last year, Danr had been received by knights, mayors, Bürgermeisters, barons, earls, dukes, and even a duchess, but never a prince. Still, he figured you did the same thing. Bow, make nice conversation, eat with your best damn manners, and pray they didn’t ask stupid questions of a truth-teller.
Danr and the others made a little parade of it, as they had a dozen times before. Everyone watched in silence, and Danr felt very small despite his height. Irrationally, he wished he were shorter, less noticeable. What a fine thing it would be to simply be part of a crowd instead of the center of one.
They had walked perhaps five steps when the prince bounded down the dais and dashed up to them. Startled, Kalessa and Ranadar gave way.
“So you’re the half-blood Hero of the Twist!” Prince Karsten said with a grin.
Aisa poked Danr, and he quickly bowed, as did the others. “Your Highness,” Danr said.
“It must have been damn amazing to hold the Iron Axe. You were the most powerful man on Erda! And you gave it up?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Danr said.
“You’ll have to tell us about it. What do you think of Balsia so far?”
Words crowded in his throat, and Danr managed a minimal reply. “It’s very big and crowded, and a lot of people know me, even though I don’t know them.”
A titter ran through the crowd. “I’m sure they do,” said Karsten. “We’re all glad you could come tonight, and some friends have brought in some special entertainment.”
Danr exchanged a quick glance with Aisa. The mermaid auction. Ranadar touched the pouch at his belt, and Talfi touched his elbow, reminding him not to call attention to it.
“I’m sure it’ll be fascinating, Your Highness,” Danr said, with utter truth.
Karsten clapped him on the shoulder, and Lady Hafren, his mother, winced from the dais. The entire room was still watching in silence, but Karsten spoke as if no one else were there. “We should introduce you around. Let’s see, over here we have Harbormaster Willem, High Priest of Bosha, Our Lady of the Oceans.”
A man in watery blue velvet robes trimmed with spotless white stepped quickly forward from a small knot of men wearing similar, less resplendent, robes. Servants or lesser priests, Danr assumed. One of the lesser men, a mousy, bald man with a worried expression, twitched the train of the harbormaster’s robe back into place after he stepped forward. The harbormaster’s carefully combed silver-white hair fell across his forehead in a style usually found on a much younger man, and his sharp gray eyes swept Danr with a hard gaze that lost nothing. When he spoke, his voice rolled like long waves. “Good to meet you, Master Danr.”
He held out his fist. A gold and azure ring gleamed on the middle finger. Danr stared down at it, uncomprehending. The people in the room shifted uncomfortably. The harbormaster waited with a stone face, fist still extended.
“Kiss the ring,” murmured the worried-looking man without moving his lips.
Oh. Danr, who could have swallowed the harbormaster’s entire fist, didn’t trust himself to merely kiss a target that tiny. Instead he leaned down and made a faint kissing noise in the general spot where the ring was. The lack wasn’t lost on the harbormaster, who looked as if he’d swallowed a sea urchin. Danr forced himself not to flinch, and after a tiny moment, a patently false quicksilver smile flashed across the harbormaster’s face.
“May the blessings of our lady Bosha wash over you, my son,” he said. “You destroyed Palana, didn’t you?”
“Nearly,” Danr said.
“Then we will have to talk later.” The harbormaster rubbed his ring. “Indeed we must.”
Meanwhile, Lady Hafren was trying to get her son’s attention from the throne dais, but he either didn’t see her or was ignoring her.
The prince led Danr over to a short, dumpling of a man all in brown velvet. “And this is the mayor, Lord Bilking.”
“So glad to meet you, so glad,” Lord Bilking said. “The Iron Axe, the Axe! Just imagine you visiting Balsia! You must pose for a portrait, you must!”
“Oh,” said Danr. “I—I—” He cast about for something to say.
“It sounds delightful,” Aisa jumped in, lying for him.
“Wonderful! Wonderful!” Lord Bilking said. “Maybe once storm season is—”
“And this,” the prince interrupted, towing the group along, “is Lord Whetherwark.”
“Perhaps,” Lady Hafren finally called from the throne dais, “Master Danr could be called on to address everyone now, and more introductions could follow later?”
The prince looked around and seemed to realize for the first time that the entire room had remained silent and was prepared to stay that way until the prince finished his business. The prince shot the room a look and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth.
“Would you like to tell us your story, Master Danr?” the mayor said quickly.
And of course, Danr had to say, “No. I can’t stand telling it, and I hate it when people ask me to.”
The mayor turned white. A gasp rippled through the crowd and Danr wanted to sink into the floor. This exact same thing had happened in the court of an earl several months back, and Danr’s unwilling rudeness had started a riot. The group had barely escaped without hurting anyone—or themselves. Stormy tension built in the room, and Danr frantically searched for exits. The closest was over there, and the crowd was thinner in front of it. He could probably bowl some people over to clear a path for Aisa and the others—
But the prince laughed and clapped him on the back. “Well said, Master Danr! I’ve never liked giving speeches, either. But we’d take it as a great favor if you’d at least tell the short version.”
The tension broke like ice in spring sunshine, and several people laughed along with the prince. Even the mayor relaxed. The prince caught Danr’s eye and nodded. In that moment, Danr liked Karsten a great deal. He nodded back. Right, then. Danr mounted the steps to the dais. More than one noble, he noticed, shied away when he passed, and twice he heard a whispered, “Half-blood.”
“Enough of that!” Harbormaster Willem boomed unexpectedly. “Kin, Fae, and Stane are all children of the Nine. Thanks to Danr himself, the Stane were freed from their prison under the mountain, and they freely enter our city, at the command of our new prince.”
“And the harbormaster,” murmured the mayor, though not loud enough to carry far.
“We need to think big,” the harbormaster said. “Bigger than our own homes, bigger than our neighborhoods, bigger than our city. The Stane are our brothers and sisters. Bosha bless them all.”
That was unexpected. Maybe there was more to the harbormaster than Danr had thought. The murmurings stopped, though a number of people exchanged looks. Danr glanced between the mayor and the harbormaster. This was an old fight, and the opposing bishops had decided Danr was a new pawn.
“Thank you, your holiness,” said the prince. “Now maybe we could hear from Danr himself?”
Danr
finished mounting the dais. Aisa remained at the foot, while Ranadar and the others mingled as they wished. On impulse, Danr shut his right eye and swept the crowd with his left. Instantly, he could see their attitudes toward him—and toward Aisa. Half the sparkling people were ready to worship him like the Bird King himself if only Danr gave the word. Two women looked at Aisa, their naked envy playing over their faces for only Danr to see. The other half of the crowd was repulsed by a half troll and by any woman who wanted to be with one. Hatred dripped in black pus from their faces. Danr opened his right eye again so he wouldn’t have to see it anymore, though a cold feeling clenched his stomach.
This was going to be his life, wasn’t it? Crowds following him everywhere, ready to adore him or attack him. Worries that his truth-telling tongue would trip him up in front of someone important. Wondering what people thought of him. Telling stories on cue for his supper like a trained animal. The life of a half-blood freak. And he had the gall to ask Aisa, the best of women, to share it with him.
His resolve hardened. It wouldn’t happen. The power of the shape would change it all. No more crowds, no more politics. He wouldn’t have to straddle two worlds anymore, and Aisa wouldn’t have to live with the prejudice he had faced his entire life. He faced his audience, firm in the decision that this time would be his last.
“The first person to tell me to find the Iron Axe was Death herself,” he began. It was a familiar narrative. Talfi had worked it out, and Danr had memorized it. This audience listened with rapt attention during the hour it took to tell. Danr knew the story so well that he didn’t have to concentrate very much, and let his gaze wander over the crowd. No sign of Hector or his wife, Sharlee. Strange, and more than a little unnerving. Better to keep enemies in the open, where you could see them, yes, it was.
He finished the story and accepted the applause. Karsten ordered the feast tables brought in, and servants brought in trestle tables, followed by benches, platters of food, and goblets of drink. During the setting up, a crowd of people surrounded Danr, all wanting to shake his hand or have a word with him or touch his arm. One person stole his handkerchief. Danr fell into the familiar rhythm of such events—shake hands or bow, say something both truthful and noncommittal, keep conversations short, and tell people Aisa handled invitations, which was the truth. Wrestling with the truth-teller in him made for exhausting work, and Danr would rather face down a platoon of orcs on wyrm-back.
Meanwhile, Ranadar, Kalessa, and Talfi scattered themselves about the room, all of them far more at ease than Danr felt. Kalessa, the warrior orc, found soul mates among a number of knights, and Talfi, the boy who couldn’t die, made friends everywhere he went. Even Ranadar got on well. Humans were usually wary of elves for taking slaves and because their touch was addictive, but elven magic and wealth garnered respect, so Ranadar was able to create a small court of his own in short order among the young and daring. No one knew who Aisa was, and they simply assumed she was a woman Danr had picked up somewhere. Neither of them went out of their way to explain the truth.
Danr still didn’t see Hector or Sharlee.
When the feast was ready, Danr and Aisa were led to the table of honor to sit near Karsten and his mother, along with the harbormaster and the mayor. The prince raised his goblet and toasted Danr (who had learned not to drink during a toast to himself), and then called, “Where is the entertainment?”
Danr saw Aisa tense beside Lady Hafren. The giant double doors were still open to keep the stuffy air moving. Through them came Hector and Sharlee Obsidia in their deep black clothing. Behind came the dwarf leading two horses that towed the water tank Aisa had described from the slave market. The water in the tank had been cleaned. At the bottom crouched the mermaid. A startled rumble rushed through the party. The mermaid’s hair moved in waves about her head and her gleaming, muscular tail was curled beneath her. Still, even from this distance, she exuded a kind of magnetism and power. Chaining such a wondrous and powerful creature was a travesty, like staking an eagle to the ground or pulling stars from the sky. Danr understood why Aisa wanted her to be free.
The harbormaster and the mayor both got to their feet. The dwarf halted the creaking, slopping tank in the middle of the floor near the feast tables while Sharlee and Hector Obsidia bowed before the head table. Danr’s stare turned into a glower. He should have known. Somehow he should have realized that the mermaid auction would be connected to these two people.
“Your Highness,” Hector said. “Lords and ladies! The Obsidia, purveyors of the best in slaves, bring this great rarity for your entertainment tonight.”
“Examine the mermaid to your heart’s content,” Sharlee added, “and then we will conduct an auction. The winner will take her home.”
A wave of excited discussion followed. The prince leaned forward in his chair. Hector caught Danr’s eye and winked. Unable to contain himself, Danr heaved himself upright.
“Filth!” he shouted.
The room went instantly silent. Talfi stared at him from his own table. Kalessa mouthed, What are you doing? This wasn’t part of the plan. But Danr didn’t care. Every eye was on him.
“Slave auctions with humans are ugly enough,” he boomed over his pounding heart, “without dragging the merfolk into it. We should set her free immediately!”
A new hope entered Aisa’s eyes, and Danr would have moved worlds to see more of it. He firmed his jaw. If he was saddled with fame, he might as well use it, and they wouldn’t have to resort to an elaborate scheme to free the mermaid.
“My lord!” said Sharlee smoothly. “I’m sure our half-blood guest knows the wider world, but here in the great city of Balsia, we know the laws and traditions.”
The mermaid knelt at the bottom of the tank. Danr wondered if she could hear them.
The prince seemed ready to say something, but his mother leaned over and spoke quickly into his ear. His face remained neutral.
Danr said clearly. “As Hero of the Twist, and the man—”
“Half-blood,” murmured someone.
“—who wielded the Iron Axe for Death herself,” he continued as if no one had spoken, “I ask the prince for a favor. Give the mermaid to me.”
Another ripple went through the crowd. Sharlee looked stricken. Danr, Hero of the Twist, stared her down.
“My lord!” she said. “That would break the laws of ownership! Your Highness certainly has the right to do as he pleases, but if you set this precedent, you endanger the entire slave market, and it’s damaged badly already. Thanks to our … noble trollish guest, the elves no longer buy slaves, and our city is running a debt. Do we want more of that?”
The crowd watched in hypnotized astonishment. This was turning into the greatest bit of entertainment in a decade, and the auction hadn’t even begun. Like the audience at a jousting match, they turned their gazes from Danr to Prince Karsten.
“You’re not arguing that giving one slave as a gift will damage the entire market, the entire market,” the mayor said dryly.
“This slave is worth more than a thousand others,” Hector pointed out. Then he turned to Karsten and fixed him with a hard look. “And I’m sure the prince will remember where the slaves came from last year when the army needed them. The crown still hasn’t paid for them all, though we know it’s been difficult times and so far we’ve been willing to wait.”
The last was a clear threat. Karsten worked his jaw back and forth and looked uncomfortably at his mother, then at the harbormaster.
“Debts must always be honored, Your Highness,” Willem said blandly. “Order and law. We were a great city once, and can only become one again if order is—”
“Yes, fine,” Karsten said shortly, and sat back in his chair with poor grace. “The mermaid belongs to the Obsidia. Let the auction continue.”
Damn it. Danr forced himself to sit as well. Aisa’s hand tightened visibly on her wine goblet.
“My lords and ladies,” Hector called quickly, before anything more could be said, �
�please feel free to examine this lovely specimen. The auction will begin shortly.”
Benches scraped the floor and a glittering stampede started for the tank. Danr refused to take part. Aisa pointedly turned away. Karsten and the other guests of honor stayed at the high table as well. At least they still had the original plan. Danr caught Talfi’s eye across the room and nodded. Talfi nodded back.
Karsten was chewing the inside of his cheek. Feeling bad for him, Danr leaned over to the prince.
“I’m sorry if I put you in a bad spot, Your Highness,” he said over the noise.
“Nothing to apologize for,” Karsten replied evenly. “I would have given her to you, but Hector is right—my father incurred debts to the Obsidia that we haven’t repaid yet.”
“Why did you look to the harbormaster?” Danr asked without thinking if it might be rude.
Karsten, however, didn’t seem to take it that way. “The harbormaster is the most powerful man in the city, after me, though the mayor wouldn’t like to admit it. Willem thinks the entire city belongs to him because his temple runs the harbor, and Mother is—I am—worried his influence is growing too fast. He pushed hard for a declaration to allow Stane into the city, though there I agreed with him.”
“Why?” Danr asked.
“New ideas. I visited Otrania, the elven port, when I was a boy. Did you know the Fae have this thing called a sewer? It runs under the city and drains sewage and other waste away to keep the city clean.”
Danr remembered his time in Alfhame. He had indeed noticed the lack of waste aboveground in the elven cities, though to him and his true eye, it had felt more as if the Fae had drawn a pretty blanket over waste and disease than drained it away.
“Sewers could clean Balsia, too,” Karsten was saying. “They can even do the opposite and bring in fresh water from the mountains so people don’t have to drink from wells and fountains. Aqueducts, the Fae call them.”
Blood Storm: The Books of Blood and Iron Page 11
